Online Reporter
Tafadzwa Zimoyo
Zimpapers Entertainment Editor
APPLAUSE, polished performances and a visibly improving production standard once again defined Zimbabwe’s biggest night in the arts calendar.
Yet, as the lights dimmed and winners posed with trophies, a familiar debate quietly reclaimed centre stage, not about who won, but about how winners are named.
For years, the issue has simmered in creative circles, resurfacing every awards season with renewed intensity.
In an industry where identity, branding and digital visibility determine careers, the continued public use of artistes’ Government names during award presentations has become a symbolic flashpoint between tradition and modern practice. That debate sharpened following the latest edition of the National Arts Merit Awards24 (NAMA), prompting organisers to firmly defend a practice they say is both intentional and foundational to the awards’ philosophy.
National Arts Council director, Napoleon Nyanhi, was neither hesitant nor apologetic about the issue.
“We are honouring the person and the brand,” said Nyanhi.
“This is a style NAMA has used for years. It is deliberate, it is respectful and it recognises that behind every stage name is a real human being whose contribution goes beyond performance.” It was a firm defence and a signal that NAMA does not see itself as merely copying global templates but as curating its own institutional identity.
The controversy erupted after social creative commentator Ranga Mberi praised the overall quality of the show but questioned the naming convention in a widely circulated post.
“Why on earth do you insist on using artistes’ Government names?” Mberi asked.
“If they’ve worked hard to build their brands, it’s only fair to call them by their stage names. Names are art too.”
His argument struck a chord with younger creatives who view branding as currency.
In an era driven by algorithms, digital discovery and international exposure, stage names are not cosmetic, they are searchable, monetisable identity under which careers are built.
Mberi bolstered his argument by referencing international award ceremonies.
At the Grammy Awards, BET Awards, South Africa’s South African Music Awards, and Nigeria’s The Headies, artistes are announced strictly by the names under which they perform and release music.
“You will never hear presenters calling out Peter Gene Hernandez or Robyn Fenty,” Mberi argued, referencing Bruno Mars and Rihanna. “It’s just not a thing.”
Yet Nyanhi’s rebuttal goes deeper than global comparison. For NACZ, the issue is not whether international awards do things differently — it is whether Zimbabwe must surrender its own cultural logic in pursuit of uniformity.
“NAMA is a national institution before it is an entertainment spectacle,” Nyanhi said.
“These awards sit within a broader framework of cultural documentation, archiving and national recognition. Government names matter in that context.”
That distinction is critical.
Unlike privately owned international award brands, NAMA operates within a statutory arts framework. Its role is not only to celebrate popularity but also to formally recognise contribution to national culture. In that sense, naming becomes an act of record-keeping as much as showmanship.
Supporters of NAMA’s approach argue that separating the artiste from the person is precisely what weakens local creative ecosystems.
Music producer and arts advocate Farai Chidavaenzi believes dual naming restores dignity to the creative profession.
“When you only call the stage name, you reduce the artiste to a product,” he said. “Using a real name alongside the brand says: this is a citizen, a professional, a contributor to national heritage.”
Others see the criticism as selectively global. While Western awards lean heavily on branding, many cultural honours especially state-backed ones, prioritise legal identity. From national orders to cultural merit awards across Africa, real names dominate citations and certificates.
However, opponents remain unconvinced. Media strategist Takemore Mazuruse argues that whatever NAMA’s intention, the effect can be counterproductive.
“Brand equity is everything in today’s industry,” he said. “When an artist is announced under a name the audience does not recognise, you create confusion. You dilute recall. And in a digital economy, that matters.” He adds that younger audiences consuming the awards online may struggle to connect winners to their streaming profiles, social media handles and catalogues. This tension exposes the core question: Is there a global standard for how artists should be named at awards, or is style sovereign? The truth is, there is no binding international rule. Awards choose formats that reflect their values. The Grammys prioritise market recognition and global branding. NAMA prioritises formal recognition, cultural record and person-hood.
Both models are valid, but they serve different objectives.
Where Mberi’s argument carries undeniable weight is on branding. Stage names are intellectual property. They are built intentionally, marketed aggressively and monetised strategically. Ignoring that reality risks placing local artists at a disadvantage in an already competitive global field.
Yet where Nyanhi’s defence holds ground is in insisting that art does not exist in a vacuum. Artists do not emerge fully formed as brands; they are shaped by families, communities and national contexts. By naming the person, NAMA asserts ownership of its creatives as national assets, not just entertainers.
The debate, then, is not about right or wrong but about evolution.
If NAMA chooses to retain its style, it may need to better explain it to younger, brand-conscious audiences. If it chooses to adapt, it must do so without losing its institutional character.
What is clear is that names carry power. They confer legitimacy, visibility and memory. Whether spoken as stage identities or birth names, they shape how history remembers artists.
